


My Name is Sherlock Holmes and I Used To Be a Consulting Detective

by Voodooling



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Gen, Implied Sherlock/John - Freeform, Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:07:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voodooling/pseuds/Voodooling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Sherlock Holmes and I am a consulting detective.<br/>I do not know what that means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Name is Sherlock Holmes and I Used To Be a Consulting Detective

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Меня зовут Шерлок Холмс, и раньше я был детективом](https://archiveofourown.org/works/928555) by [little_lionheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_lionheart/pseuds/little_lionheart)



> Originally posted on
> 
> [Tumblr](http://voodooling.tumblr.com/post/58260646983/my-name-is-sherlock-holmes-and-i-used-to-be-a)
> 
> Just a tiny ficlet. Enjoy!

 

My name is Sherlock Holmes and I am a consulting detective.  
I do not know what that means.  
“John?”  
He looks up at me. John, my doctor. I think he used to be something else too, but I do not remember.  
“Yes, Sherlock?” He gets up from his chair to sit beside me. Warmth blossoms on my side.  
Too much.  
Too much.  
Too-  
He shifts his leg away, I sigh in relief.  
“Sorry. Um, what did you want, Sherlock?”  
“Tea.”  
He nods, and then he stands. There’s a small dent in the sofa where John had been. The material slowly rises back up as John’s footsteps recede into the kitchen.  
 _Hssssss. Tck. Beep._  
The sofa looks the same as before now, as if John was never there.  
Tea. Tea is nice.

\---

It is unpleasant. It is unpleasant, it is- Where am I? It is hot. Too hot. A nightmare. Right, it was just a nightmare. It is not real, it was not real, was it ever real? I do not remember. Breathe, deep breaths, in, out, in, out –  
John bursts into my room, panting. He is walking towards me, he is at my bedside. He looks like he wants to touch me but does not. Why does he refrain from doing so? Right. Warmth, too much warmth.  
“It’s alright, Sherlock. It’s just a dream. It’s not real. I’m here. It’s fine, it’s all fine.”  
Is it?

\---

It used to be ‘I do not know’ when I did not know the answer. People flinched whenever I said it, as if they did not like that I did not know. Was I supposed to know all the answers? Nowadays, I simply do not speak. What do they think I am, a genius? Am I a genius? Was I a genius?  
I do not remember.

\---

 _Trauma. Torture. No longer accepting cases._  
John, my doctor, used to have a blog. He wrote stories about adventures and crime solving and shopping at Tesco’s. He wrote me into these stories. He is a good writer. He once mentioned it was from before, but nowadays they are stories. Did we really go on such adventures? Surely no one could be that smart, the way he’s written me. I do not remember.  
The last entry John wrote was about me. There were big words and something about me being unable to work. I wonder what happened.

\---

My name is Sherlock Holmes and I used to be a consulting detective. John is my doctor and… friend. I think he used to be something else too, but I do not remember.

\---

I do not remember.  
I do not remember.  
I do not remember.  
I cannot remember.  
I want to but I cannot.  
 _I cannot._


End file.
